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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23060569">The Coast</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaSniperKitty/pseuds/NinjaSniperKitty'>NinjaSniperKitty</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Overly protective bf Geralt, everyone is happy and nothing hurts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:15:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,856</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23060569</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaSniperKitty/pseuds/NinjaSniperKitty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt takes Jaskier up on his offer to get away and go to the coast for a while. While Geralt sees danger hiding everywhere along the coast, Jaskier hasn't been to the sea in <i>years</i> and only sees a good time!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>309</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Coast</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It's been a long time since I've visited the shore. Ten years, maybe? Fifteen? I've been close to it, but I have not had the time to actually go down and gaze upon its splendor. I'm very busy gracing this land with the fruits of my labor, after all. I have no time for play.” </p>
<p><em> Fruits of his labor</em>. More like he did all of the labor while Jaskier watched from afar, Geralt thinks with a snort.</p>
<p>Jaskier pulls his waterskin from his belt and drinks deeply before continuing. “My family and I used to make biannual trips to the sea. You could say that it has a special place in my heart.” With a hand on Roach’s mane, he glances up at the witcher. “Do you visit the sea often, Geralt?”</p>
<p>“Not unless I have to. You wouldn't either if you knew the kinds of creatures lurking beneath the waters.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps. And yet danger hides in beauty as beauty hides in danger. Ooh!” There’s a sly smile on his face. He wiggles his dark eyebrows. “Do you think we will run into any mermaids while we’re here? I've always wanted to meet a mermaid. I've heard rumors that their breasts—”</p>
<p>Geralt grunts. “Keep it in your pants, Jaskier.”</p>
<p>The ground turns from dirt to sand beneath their feet as they press on. The surrounding trees begin to thin out until Geralt can see a line of blue on the horizon. In the distance, he can hear the distinct call of shorebirds.</p>
<p>The sun is just beginning to make its descent in the sky. They could not have chosen a better day to make this trip. Good; Geralt was incredibly tired of overcast days. It had been at least four days since he had seen the slightest ray of sunshine, he was convinced. </p>
<p>Jaskier becomes increasingly restless the closer they get, Geralt notes. He begins to talk faster about meaningless topics until the witcher struggles to keep up with his line of thought. The bard is practically bouncing in place in anticipation, not unlike a child. It’s almost endearing. </p>
<p>Geralt lifts his head and smells the air. Drowners had travelled past this shore once, but their scent was stale. There’s the faint scent of wolves being carried on the wind, but they’re far away by Geralt’s estimate. It’s safe enough for now. </p>
<p>Past the stench of monsters, it smells of icy sea air. Bracing. Geralt sighs and lets some of the tension ease from his shoulders.</p>
<p>The duo stops far enough from the edge of the water as to not be splashed by the assault of waves upon the shore. With a brief scratch before her ears, Geralt hops off of Roach. His boots dig into the sand underfoot upon impact. </p>
<p>Geralt watches the rise of Jaskier’s chest as he inhales deeply. There’s a ridiculous smile plastered on his face and the water before him has his undivided attention.</p>
<p>“We’re here. What now?” Geralt asks. </p>
<p>Jaskier does not respond. Instead, he gingerly places his bags on a nearby rock, toes out of his boots, and places them beside a rock. His garters and stockings soon follow until he is left barefoot.</p>
<p>“What are you doing?” Geralt asks. ”I'm not carrying you if you step on a crab.”</p>
<p>“I’m plowing a field with my feet—what does it look like I'm doing, you oaf?” Jaskier scoffs and rolls his eyes before bending over to roll up the bottoms of his trousers. </p>
<p>The bard looks ridiculous in Geralt’s opinion. The formality of his outfit is a sharp contrast to his pale and rather chicken-like shins. The legs of a man who has never done a day of real labor but instead spends all day writing poetry in a cozy inn somewhere. (This he knows from experience. He has seen Jaskier sit and write for hours at a time. Bored him half to death.)</p>
<p>Like a man possessed, Jaskier takes off towards the shore. There is the strong urge to follow him, to make sure that he is safe in whatever hare-brained antics he's gotten himself into this time, but Geralt fights it. Jaskier leaps into the water until it is up to mid-calf and lets out what Geralt could only classify as a shriek. His hand instinctively goes for the hilt of his silver sword.</p>
<p>“Cold! <em> Very </em>cold! Would not recommend!”</p>
<p>Idiot.</p>
<p>Like a fool with a stick in his ass, Jaskier waddles back up the shoreline. His arms are wrapped around himself, but Geralt doesn't miss the smile plastered on his face despite the hypothermia no doubt developing in his feet. Jaskier laughs and their eyes meet.</p>
<p>He has a nice smile. Warm, like the sun.</p>
<p>There's a smart ass remark burning at the tip of his tongue—something about how men older than eight should not be playing in the surf, but he keeps it to himself. Happiness was fleeting, especially in a land overrun with death and turmoil. No need to ruin it for others. </p>
<p>“Come on, Geralt! At least <em> try </em>to have a little fun! We're on vacation!”</p>
<p>“Maybe you are. Witchers don't take days off. Besides, someone has to make sure you don't get dragged away by drowners.”</p>
<p>Another scoff. His voice lowers mockingly. ” ‘<em>I’m Geralt. I'm a big important witcher with two swords. If I so much as crack a smile my face may break. I wish I were as handsome and charming as my best friend Jaskier!’ </em>Boo, you boor!”</p>
<p>Geralt shrugs. There's a lot to unravel in that. “I smile on the occasion. Face hasn't broken yet.”</p>
<p>The playful smile on Jaskier’s face drops into an unreadable mask. “I know, Geralt. I'm just teasing you.”</p>
<p>“You and your ridiculous jokes make me smile sometimes.”</p>
<p>“Oh! Well, uh, thank you for your candor. I think. Happy to be of service.” The bard turns his back to him to stare out at the vast expanse of water before him. They stay like that for several minutes. Several minutes of blissful, rare silence. Geralt can tell that Jaskier is lost in thought because it is one of the few occasions he has found that the bard is ever quiet. </p>
<p>Geralt lets out a sigh and allows himself to sit on a nearby rock. He's confident that Jaskier isn't going to run off into trouble anytime soon.</p>
<p>Jaskier’s voice is soft as he speaks. </p>
<p>
  <em> “In that shoreless ocean, </em>
  <em>at thy silently listening smile my songs would swell in melodies, </em>
  <em>free as waves, free from all bondage of words. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Is the time not come yet? Are there works still to do? Lo, the evening has come down upon the shore and in the fading light the seabirds come flying to their nests.” </em>
</p>
<p>“Did you write that?” Geralt asks with a tilt of his head. He'd always been shit at poetry. It usually went right over his head.</p>
<p>Jaskier chuckles. His back is still turned to him. “No. I thought it was a lovely piece of prose, though.”</p>
<p>“Hmm. Should have figured. There's not a single mention of goats or genitals in it.”</p>
<p>Geralt prepares for some sharp-tongued retort, something akin to how Jaskier’s works are <em> art </em>and how he wouldn't understand them anyway. No reply comes, however, and the silence stretches between them once more.</p>
<p>This is unlike the bard—to be quiet for so long. It starts to make Geralt worry. He grabs a handful of damp sand and compresses it between his hands, squeezing the water out until it becomes some semblance of a ball. He throws it at Jaskier.</p>
<p>Judging by the high-pitched squeal Jaskier makes, at least some of it lands right on target.</p>
<p>“What the—what is this? W-What… It’s wet! GERALT!” His voice jumps an octave as he scrabbles at the back of his shirt. “Geralt, it-it’s down my shirt!” He turns around, an abject look of horror on his face that Geralt cannot help but smile at. “Did you do this? This was a brand new doublet, you absolute whoreson! You… You <em> cur!” </em> </p>
<p>Yeah, he's fine.</p>
<p>The way Jaskier tugs at the back of his shirt and does some mockery of a dance to rid himself of the sand is infinitely amusing to Geralt. The bard eventually gives up and pulls his coat and doublet up over his head until his chest is bare. He shakes them out while spitting curses at him all the while.</p>
<p>“Now I am going to <em> freeze to death </em>and it's going to be all your fault!”</p>
<p>And he gives Jaskier one of his rare laughs. It only causes Jaskier to glare daggers at him, but even he cannot keep up the guise for long and breaks into a smile. Jaskier bends to grab his own handful of damp sand, presses it between his hands, and takes a running lunge forward before lobbing it at Geralt. It falls short, but Geralt is already sprinting towards the bard.</p>
<p>Jaskier lets out an exclamation of surprise and throws his hands up in surrender but Geralt pays it no mind. He quickly catches up and stops mere inches from him to duck and wrap his arms around the bard’s thighs. Jaskier yelps as he’s thrown over Geralt’s shoulder like a sack of flour.</p>
<p>“<em>Geralt! </em>Let me down this instant!” He slaps fruitlessly at his back.</p>
<p>“Not until you tell me how handsome and charming I am.”</p>
<p>“Yes, yes. You’re very handsome and charming, Geralt, now<em> let me down! </em>This is embarrassing!”</p>
<p>“Just how handsome and charming am I?”</p>
<p>Jaskier groans. “As handsome and charming as the night is long in the winter, now <em> let me down!” </em></p>
<p>“More so than you?”</p>
<p>“Equally so if not slightly less. I swear to the gods—“</p>
<p><em> So humble. </em>Geralt snorts, but obliges and sets the bard back down. </p>
<p>Jaskier’s gray eyes glare up at him, his jaw set. <em> “Thank you!”  </em>he says with a flippant tone. </p>
<p>“You’re quite welcome.” Geralt notices the way Jaskier’s hands clasp round his upper arms, the way he shivers when the wind blows. Without thinking, he grabs the edges of his cloak and wraps his arms around Jaskier‘s back, pulling him close. The bard grunts but does not protest to being drawn against Geralt’s chest.</p>
<p>“How are you so warm? It’s freezing out!” Jaskier turns around until it is his back against Geralt‘a chest.</p>
<p>“Witchers generally have higher body temperatures than most. I’m also not running about without shoes on like a child.” Geralt presses his cheek to the top of Jaskier’s head. He smells lightly of sandalwood because of course he would wear oils like some pampered nobleman. It’s a pleasant scent, one that’s warm and familiar. He likes it. </p>
<p>“Fair enough.” Jaskier sighs and sinks into his embrace. </p>
<p>Following his gaze, Geralt can see that the bard is intently watching the waves crash against the shore. Geralt never had been one for <em> finding the poetry in nature</em>, as Jaskier so often said, but he can see the appeal of the coast—when it’s not covered in monsters looking to eat the nearest creature for dinner, anyway.</p>
<p>And his present company isn’t half bad, either.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The poem is in the work "Gitanjali" by Rabindranath Tagore!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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